THE LATCH KEY KIDS
We are the infamous latch key kids,
feral dyed in the wool.
A free range generation raised up
grabbing the horns of the bull.
There was no one there, to tell us where
we could and could not go.
Adventure to be had, danger ain't bad.
A cool scar's quid pro quo.
Long past when the street lights came on
we howled and barked at the moon.
Party all night, lookin' for a fight.
then stayed in bed until noon.
Drinking, smoking, dropping, and worse
anything to escape.
The streets made us feel so alive.
Home a toxic landscape.
School of hard knocks, knocks you back.
They grew up, we survived.
Grizzled and rough, tattered but tough,
those who lived through it, thrived.
Born of a cloth wrapped in fear and loathing
A dyed in the wool wolf in sheep's clothing
A scoundrel at heart for all here to see
No sacrifice made or hero to be
A braggart that speaks only tongue and cheek
A coward at best that preys on the weak
What goes around comes around without a sound
So when the time comes lies dead on the ground
Beguiled risks sensitive alterations
that redesigned unknots and cutup trice
as the fresh teases through the looking glass
exposing timepiece resemblance glossed spilled.
Bemused forgives absence, mindful at hand,
tenuously gripping the rolled spent yarn
that edges fingertips loosely as threads
answer questionable finds, stitch-by-stitch.
Period accentuates the sensed thence
for the bestilled entangled narrative
plots exclamation points of those foregone
chapters ... period midst frames of escape.
Styled room for maneuvering that spirals
at a loss now hangs overhead ticking ...
mockery behold guardians of greens
that grow within disoriented poise.
Blue compliments presence expressed squarely
drafting the voiceless lucid residue
that nurtured former brush and forever
sealed a dream sweeter than a Danish roll.
running,
and running,
and running
on a spinning wheel
like an indefatigable hamster;
persisting...
on and on
as dawn creeps into
dusk's front door
and makes a backyard exit,
a dyed-in-the-wool workaholic
can barely move a limb
after slaving through
his graveyard shift.
he's finally home early morning;
body and spirit, exhausted.
with a cold brew in his hand,
he leans back
on his comfortable recliner
and takes a big gulp...
a h h h h ! ! !
temporary freedom
from back-breaking work
never tasted
so refreshing!!
he's earned his right
to be blissfully idle
throughout the day.
he's got hours of sleep
to catch up on!
You're a naive, dyed-in-the-wool dreamer,
following the erratic paths of hope;
blind to the route fate's chosen for your soul.
Memories are prisms focused on the past;
observing shadows that cannot be changed,
while yesterday's failed dreams levy their toll.
You have shared the innate beauty of love,
and the fantasy of dreamy places;
freeing your spirit to soar like the birds.
But the edge of betrayal cuts like glass;
your wounded heart, bleeding tears of regret,
till anger dictates love's departing words.
From birth to the finality of death,
human emotions are tethered to love;
even those that question its existence.
There is a private place deep in your heart
filled with forgotten, fragmented feelings,
where dreams dwell, fueled by hope's persistence.
Strange, funny even;
someone spending two hours
in the gym at noon, sweating it out
then defeats the purpose at night
by wolfing down 3 large slices
of cheese pizza for dinner!
Yet I hold my laughter and criticism
because I'm sure that at some point
I've been unknowingly guilty
of such self-sabotage!
I'm also sure it has caused friction
in relationships, even break-ups!
Head-scratching; a dyed-in-the-wool
pro-lifer vehemently supporting
the death penalty. I can almost hear
a thought out there going...
"What the? I don't get that one!"
Yeah, it's a head-scratcher for me, too
I bet it discombobulates even an oxymoron!
It will make sense to me when 2+2 is 5!
POLARITIES AND PARADOXES Poetry Contest (Winner: 4th Place)
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
Date written and submitted: 01/16/2020
eyes etched'n mystery
wielding wanky slips
on epileptic drips
centered on clips
hanging on hits
punctured per clip
delicate draw dangling
lousy limb lustrating
pulling chaos's mist
vying courage gulped
in mystic mist
punctured passion puking
lusty lips leak
dyed-in-the-wool demon creeps.
20:01:15:16:55
Dyed-In-the-Wool!
Stains there in your palms, wallowing, ling'ring,
Metamorphosed into tears and so drips,
Tainting where they plunge, and you're unsullied?
19:03:12:08:52
Ancestor. Ancestral Pen. Ancestral Form. Dyed-in-the-wool
After seven months I was rotting into December,
slack-jawed, fruitless promises dripping out of my skull.
By spring, the very thing that I swore I’d never surrender
implored that my grip loosen; I was finally null.
Beneath red or blue lights, on those black and blue nights
I would melt into the memory of our heaven-to-be.
Liquor and cigarettes delivered me to the depths
of the ugliest hate-ridden place I ever did see.
It was seven months later, one day early October,
I paused and took a look at where my staggering led:
I seemed happy, met a woman, I no longer was cold.
Her smile lit me for a while, and led me into her bed.
I realized what I wanted, what I needed, and suddenly
we were sprawled across the floor looking onto the stars
that glowed softly against the ceiling;
(her passion was so revealing)
they witnessed my recreation,
(I was dyed in the wool)
and the end of my reeling
and every awful feeling.
I sipped from her invitation
and was finally full.
file for reversal
separation of dew
from meadow
nor the progress
of eventide
awaken the sunrise
at first blush
stalk the night hours
and pen kisses
the source of spring
and thaw
nestled, on a bed of roses
dyed-in-the-wool,
my three pointed star
a rain that replenishes the soul
and desire
Home of the Free
By Franklin Price
3/6/2016
Home of the free I have my doubts
They're more and more each day
Especially when it's voting time
And the Parties come to play
Staunch Republicans and Democrats
The ones dyed in the wool
Think the RINOs and the DINOs
Should jump fully in their pool
Should not look at all the choices
Don't vote your chosen one
The Parties chose them for you
Should be over said and done
Chose several whose integrity
is questionable at best
Then a few that may be good for us
Fill the menu of the rest
They screwed up a little
In the choices they've allowed
There's an outspoken Apprentice
And a Socialist in the crowd
The Parties thought they'd do it
To give some semblance of choice
But if you vote for either
They try to take away your voice
The Parties let them come to play
When they did well could not resist
Are interfering with the process
As for me, I'm really pissed
For those who voted for the two
If either was your choice
You should be pissed also
As they take away your voice
He thought she loved him as the dense clouds of wool filled his mind,
but she was there for only one thing, to fleece him of his money.
A dyed in the wool sex addict, an easy mark, she knew his kind,
but he knew her too, every penny was worth her soft fleecy skin, sweet as honey.
She gave herself to him as he let the wool cover his eyes, part of the game, he wasn't blind.
01/16/16
Don't ever be, dyed in the wool, be wise
Against anyone, who's always spinning yarns.
To them it's just another game, to pull wool over eyes.
As every time that they cry wolf, it's always false alarms.
For a wolf will wear sheep's clothing, to catch you by surprise.
An omnipotent'd been ideated by militant clan,
Aeons tell how it put them through a social pace.
To set up abode or to relate races with astute plan,
God had its genesis;women-men needed it to seek solace.
As fact a woman conceives, is manifest
Man couldn't conceive of anything but God for law and lex.
Dyed-in-the-wool,they kept bending head for mending mind lest
They vex orders of war, worship and women for sex.
But missile killed gravid woman with faded hue,
Her baby survived in placenta of its mom of Gaza:
A whole race, policies, religion; yet nothing to rue,
As if all were busy computing to bring future bonanza.
No more sacred are our Temple and Church or Mosque and tomb.
Truth says:fetus Jesus'd been bestowed on Mary's womb!
Surveillance across the border
Can't stop this tricky misfit
Dyed in the wool habits
Propagate my quantum unzip
Features festering on a broken age
Creatures gesturing to allocate sage
Where grass grows plenty
Ill be unloading the Chesapeak
Shipliner still dazed
On animal plantation
We'll circle the globe
Figuring out what to do
And lay in jewel tombs
The way we're supposed to
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